


Mustard Gas and Roses

by enso_infinite



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, Humour, M/M, No mention of werewolves though not technically an AU, Phone Calls, While Derek stays in Beacon Hills, stiles goes to college
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:16:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2699315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enso_infinite/pseuds/enso_infinite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles drunk dials Derek and ends up confessing his love for Derek by accident, kinda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mustard Gas and Roses

**Mustard Gas and Roses**

**\---**

“Ugh. Hello?”

“Hey, Derek, old pal, I’ve missed you _so_ much.”

“Stiles? Are you drunk?”

“Nooo. Maybe?”

“It’s past midnight. Why are you calling me?”

“Is it? I’m sorry, I should’ve called.”

“You should’ve called me before you called me?”

“Yeah, to let you know beforehand, like a heads up, you know.”

“What do you want, Stiles?”

“Told ya. I’ve been missing you like, like… like the moon misses the night, like the sailor misses the sea, like peanut butter misses bread.”

“You’ve been gone three weeks.”

“The longest three weeks of my  _life_!”

“I thought you couldn’t wait to start senior year.”

“Well, now I can’t wait to graduate, to go home and spend my evenings watching reruns of _The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air_ with you.”

“I miss you too, Stiles.”

“Really, you do? Or are you just humoring me?”

“I do, really.”

“Derek, are  _you_  drunk?”

“No, though I did hit my head earlier this evening.”

“Oh my God, are you okay?”

“It was just a table, I think I’ll survive.”

“What were you doing under a table?”

“I’d dropped my fork.”

“Well don’t do that again. Your head is too precious to hit it against hard surfaces.”

“Why are you laughing?”

“I wouldn’t mind if your head came close to a certain hard surface of mine. Oh fuck. I’m definitely drunk.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“No, wait! I wanted to ask you something.”

“What is it?”

“Do you find me attractive?”

“You’re not ugly.”

“Aw, dear, you’ve always been too generous with your compliments.”

“Is that all? Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Derek, I might be slightly drunk right now, but my brain is still working perfectly fine.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Derek, being away from you has made me realize a few things.”

“Okay.”

“Derek, I—”

“Stiles, would you please stop starting all your sentences with my name? It’s freaking me out.”

“But I  _like_  your name. I like the way it rolls off my tongue. I like—”

“Please, stop.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun, but it’s okay, I still love you. Oh. Oops.”

“Stiles?”

“I didn’t mean to— I know it’s way too premature for— Shit, shit,  _shit_.”

“Stiles, it’s okay. Breathe.”

“I think I’m gonna puke.”

“It’s okay. Just don’t do it in your bed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize.”

“I want to. I’m sorry I called you at fucking three in the morning and have subjected you to my drunken ramblings.”

“Go to sleep, Stiles. Put a bucket next to your bed.”

“Okay, but we’ll continue this conversation in the morning when I no longer feel like I’m dying from the inside.”

“Sure. Good night, Stiles.”

“Good night, Derek.”

\---

“Stiles.”

“Dude, I’m so sorry for last night. I wish I was way more inebriated so I would forget all the stupid things I said to you.”

“You didn’t mean any of them?”

“It was all a bunch of nonsense.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? You’re just gonna accept it like that and then move on with your life?”

“What do you want from me, Stiles?”

“Were you really letting me get away with confessing my undying love for you and then backpedalling the morning after by blaming it all on the booze?”

“I knew you wouldn’t actually do that.”

“You knew?”

“You did spew a lot of nonsense last night, but I didn’t put the confession of your undying love for me among it.”

“You _knew_ , you bastard. For how long?”

“Since your sophomore year in college, I think.”

“All this time and you didn’t say a thing?”

“I didn’t want to assume anything before you were ready to admit it to yourself first.”

“How... considerate of you.”

“Everybody has their flaws.”

“Does it mean you’ve, um, felt this way for me for a while too?”

“Since the very first day I laid my eyes on you.”

“What? Seriously?”

“No, you moron. You were sixteen and trespassing on my property.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t find all of my teenage awkwardness endearing.”

“What can I say? Your flailing around like a hapless deer does things to a man.”

“I’ve always pegged you as a romantic.”

“The summer when you came back after freshman year, that’s when everything started to come together.”

“Oh my God, that’s when we started the bi-weekly series marathon nights at your loft, and you’d always let me choose all the toppings I wanted for our pizzas, and you even lent me your ridiculous car for a whole week when my baby broke down. Holy shit. You love me.”

“Took you long enough to realise.”

“I think I did realise something changed that summer, but my brain needed more time to catch up with my heart. Oh, God. I did _not_ say that.”

“Who’s the romantic now?”

“Fuck you. And you know what? I did not mean that figuratively. Whatever your plans are this weekend, take a rain check on them, because you’re coming over to help me study for Anatomy.”

“Somehow, I suspect you’re taking that course only to be able to make that lame joke.”

“You know me so well.”

\--- The End.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a reference to Vonnegut's _Slaughterhouse-Five_ where the main character often drunk dials ex-lovers and describes his breath as smelling like mustard gas and roses.


End file.
